Epiphany
by AlienZombies
Summary: Hard times can bring even the farthest extremes together, for better or for worse. Tragedy has a way of uniting the divided. NICKXELLIS
1. EPIPHANY

**Notes: **I struggled with this piece. It's definitely not my favorite but I thought I should share it anyway. I wanted to write an "established relationship"-type fic... and I don't feel I pulled that off well, haha. ALSO, you may notice some serious parallels between this and my fic Yellow Pulse. I never intended to finish this fic, so I adopted most of my main points from this fic to use in Yellow Pulse. But then I decided to just buck up and finish it, and it stands on its own just fine. THIS IS MEANT TO BE A FOLLOW-UP TO DELIVERANCE, though it can (and should, probably) be read separately.

On top of that, my mind screamed at me to end this the way it needed to be ended, and I DID... but at the same time, I didn't want a sad ending. SO. I compromised.

THIS is the fic. It reads fine just how it is, here. **However, this is not the intended ending**. If you wish to read the intended ending (which is **unhappy**, as a warning), **it is in the second chapter**. Juuust so you know. Anyway, onward! **Please** don't think badly of me if this fic is utter failure. I will upload something of better quality in the near future. Promise.

**Epiphany**

Night swept up The Safe Zone in its thick, cold fist like a giant. It seemed to Nick that the sun was simply snuffed out before it reached the horizon, like a candle, leaving nothing but a smoky blue afterglow, and soon even that faded into blackness before 6:00. Winters in the Midwest were absolutely abysmal, he decided, and he was never coming back, ever.

The temperatures sometimes hit below zero during the night, and even during the day. The freezing wind tore through the encampments, unhindered by mountains or trees, sometimes pulling up tarps or posters or knocking the hats off of unsuspecting soldiers on guard. And then the snow would come in huge onslaughts, and then it would melt in the sun and freeze in the night, forming treacherous sheets of ice over otherwise seemingly innocent snowdrifts. The infirmary filled with people sick with frostbite, the common cold or flu, and a battery of ice-related injuries from cuts to broken arms. A body didn't want to get injured or ill out here, not in The Safe Zone. Your odds of quarantine skyrocketed, and the military went to extreme measures to prevent the spread of infection, especially on the non-immune side of the fence. No one was willing to talk about it, but sometimes people got sick and never came back.

Quarantine was the worst. They put a little eight-year-old boy in quarantine once, and he came back out refusing to speak or look anyone in the eyes, and he had night terrors, and went back to pissing himself like a two-year-old.

With winter hitting like this, with the infection spreading, with the military cracking down on even a runny nose, the rate of suicide was escalating. There were attempts to keep dangerous things out of the hands of civilians, but people would choke themselves with bottle caps, hang themselves with shoelaces or even belts or strips of clothing, would slit their wrists with any piece of scrap metal or glass or wood they could find. Some people would find a hidden corner and would strip off their clothes in the dead of the icy night, and lay down, and freeze to death.

Nick didn't like it here. He had known from the start that it was a bad situation. The entire east coast was taken, according to the radio. It was spreading all along the southern border, now, and even a little bit through the Great Lakes area, but mostly consuming the southern US. If it struck the populations in Mexico, it would be Game Over for the American continents. There was no way to look after the health of so many people. If Mexico got hit with the infection… the words Mutually Assured Destruction were going to seem less like a fancy and more like certainty. Probably once the first cluster of cases hit the Eurasian continent, it would be the end of the human race.

Even though it was morbid and did no good for his nerves, Nick couldn't help thinking about it. How much longer did he have to live? Weeks? Months? A year? A few years? He was still young, only 35, which wasn't so old with modern medicine at all. He still had another, hell, 40 years, more than that. He couldn't afford go out, not like this, not holed up in a tent like the victim of a concentration camp.

It was a little-known fact, but Nick suffered from anxiety and a heart condition. The heart condition was mild and easily controlled by watching his caffeine intake for the most part. The anxiety, however, was something he required prescriptions for. He hadn't had his pills in coming up on a month and a half. It made him a little bit obsessive and neurotic, more so than usual, and though he didn't want to admit it, he was glad that he had friends in Ellis, Rochelle, and Coach – because otherwise, he was pretty damn unapproachable and, as Ellis put it, "just plain ornery."

The military provided essential prescriptions, but if you were a weak link, they would mark you down. You became disposable. So Nick refused to go and ask for them.

The flap of the tent shifted, as if in a breeze, and then unzipped, and Ellis poked his head in.

"Hi, Nick," he said, not without a healthy dose of caution, as he slipped inside. He looked strange, in his baggy standard-issue denims and the plain gray T-shirt with the neon-green button on it, stamped in the number of their tent, 345, and the letter A.

"Hey, Overalls," Nick said wanly, battling against another headache. He rubbed his temple, but it didn't seem to help. He turned on a tired smile, which Ellis returned with sincerity and a hint of relief. 'Overalls' was Nick's affectionate nickname for him, spawned ages ago when they had first met each other, when Nick couldn't remember his name but needed to address him; from there, it had evolved into a euphemism for Ellis's ass (literally – it's a long story, and if one bothered to ask, Ellis would only reply with, "oversized but durable and a cinch to get clean"), until finally it rested now, as a nickname shared between only them, and only when Nick was feeling gentle or playful.

"Are you buckin' up any?" Ellis asked. He hovered still by the exit, in case Nick was in another one of his moods.

Nick kept up the smile, for Ellis's sake. "Not really, but I'm not worse. I'm just… fucking freezing."

"Anythin' I can do for you?"

Nick knew that this was less for him and more for Ellis, who would feel like he was drowning if he couldn't help somebody somehow. "If you could get me a blanket, or something, that'd be helpful," Nick said, and this seemed to do the trick, because Ellis's smile took on a genuine glow now. In the same way, Nick felt his own grin become less forced.

"Be right back, then," Ellis said, flipping up the hood of his standard-issue jacket. Nothing they had anymore was their own. "I'll see if they have any extras."

He wasn't necessarily _employed_ by the military, but they were certainly putting him to good use, and, though it wasn't much, he did have some leeway when it came to getting things for his friends. This was probably mostly due to his infectiously friendly nature. Nick watched him go knowing he would come back with the blanket, as promised, and feeling somewhat sad to see him leave.

They had become closer and closer after Ellis had kissed him before going to work; that was after at least a solid week of cautious hand-holding and Nick refusing to admit what was happening. Rochelle teased them endlessly, but Coach was impassive and stony, like a mountain, like a boulder. Nick still wasn't sure quite what they were, exactly – or if, under any other circumstances, they could have ever gotten along. It didn't seem likely, with Ellis's youthful enthusiasm, and Nick's experienced standoffishness. Two polar opposites united under the same stressful conditions to form something truly glorious, like coal becoming a diamond under extreme heat and pressure… yes. That was the way to phrase it.

Nick wondered often about whether or not, once – or if - this was all over, he and Ellis would still stick together. It seemed so easy, now, the way Ellis made him laugh and, for the first time since he was a boy, feel cared for. He wasn't sure what Ellis saw in _Nick_ at all, and when he asked Ellis only shrugged and came up with another complex gator story that was supposedly an analogy for his feelings. All Nick got out of it was blood and Keith, two things he'd had enough of during this hellhole of an adventure.

This was bad, Nick realized bitterly, laying freezing on his cot with a throbbing headache. His thoughts chased each other around and around but he never once came up with anything particularly profound. Time slipped by with indeterminable speed, and he was surprised when Ellis returned after what only felt like seconds.

"Aww, shit, look at you," Ellis said, almost fondly. "I'm sorry I was gone so long, honest. I got yanked aside by that annoying girl four tents up, you know the one, who says she went to my high school… Bullshit, I tell you what, I remember every goddamn face and I ain't never seen her mug 'afore. Here."

"Did you just say 'mug?'" Nick asked, amused, even as he allowed Ellis to throw the blanket over him. Any other time, his manly pride would have been wounded, being tucked in like a baby.

"Yeah. So?" Ellis frowned a little, reaching out to brush at Nick's hair, which was getting longer and more disheveled with time, graying slightly just around the temples. "Aww, Christ, you're burnin' up somethin' fierce."

"You stole 'mug' from me, that's _mine_," Nick said, trying to be mean but not quite reaching that point.

Ellis flashed him a patient smile, not about to be derailed. He could be terribly stubborn when you touched on something he held dear, like trucks or carnivals – and, apparently, Nick's health had been labeled as something under Ellis's "do not touch" category. "You _are_ sick. I figured. Poor little sonofabitch. You look like a kicked puppy, only less hairy and more crusty."

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" Nick grumbled, trying to sit up; Ellis pushed him back down. "They'll quarantine me."

"They wouldn't do that, do you think?" But Ellis sounded worried.

"You know they will, El."

"I just don't like it," Ellis fretted. "Why ain't they cleared up the infection yet?"

"Dunno, man. I don't know."

"Well, you keep warm, okay? I got some Advil shit, stuff… That'll fix your fever, probably. And we got water – you should drink that."

"Ellis… you should have grown up to become a nurse," Nick taunted, which earned him a hard stare.

"Shut up. Sick people ain't allowed to talk."

"You know what? You're giving me a headache."

A warm, gentle smile came over Ellis's face, and it was times like these that Nick wondered what he was like before all of this, before all of this unexpected worry and complication fell on him. Had he ever smiled at someone like that before? How much more often did he laugh?

"Quit your bellyachin', and drink your water." Ellis smoothed the callused pad of his thumb along the ridge of Nick's eyebrow, and, by some miracle, this actually seemed to dull the ache somewhat. Tender affection could do that, Nick knew – it had worked on young children for centuries.

"Yes, _Mom_," Nick's mouth said, even as his insides swelled with feeling.

Ellis bopped him over the head with one blunt fist. "I'm goin' out. You stay tucked, you hear?"

"I hear, I hear…"

And then Ellis was gone.

* * *

Nick took the Advil, and as promised his fever dropped. He stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling and worrying about nothing and everything until he fell asleep, where he had restless dreams. He hadn't slept well in months – maybe even years, ever since that messy divorce with Cookie ("Cookie!" Ellis had exclaimed when he heard, and he had laughed for a solid ten minutes, for which Nick still hated him). Admittedly, Nick had been flying solo for quite a long time. That was part of the reason being with Ellis – if what they were doing could be considered "being with" each other – was so strange. It was an unfamiliar role that Nick hadn't filled in a long time, and besides which, he had never filled it very well to begin with. Or at least, that's what Cookie would say.

He dreamt about Cookie somewhat, in the fevered spikes of REM sleep, when he could reach them. Her cold, cold eyes. The poke of her fingernails. Her high, spiraling laugh. How he hated her and loved her in turns, in shrieking highs and screaming lows, until she left him dog tired and moneyless. How she had cried over every little thing, to wear him down. If there was one thing Nick couldn't bear, it was seeing someone cry. And she knew it.

He dreamt about her tears. They were made of gasoline. He had matches in his hands and he set each and every one on fire. The matches came from God. Nick had them, held out the smoldering head and started the blaze and moved through it. It burned and burned, until he was swimming in a lake of fire, and there was Ellis on the far bank, reaching out, reaching out into the flames, burning up, burning up.

"Burning up," Ellis was murmuring, and Nick started awake.

"Holy shit! Don't scare me like that!"

"Your fever," Ellis said, unruffled. "You didn't do what I said."

He could be so patronizing sometimes.

"I'm fine," Nick snapped. "Maybe if you smothered me less, I'd be cooler."

Ellis chuckled, and kissed him. His mouth was cold from winter.

"Stop that," Nick muttered, losing steam. "I'll get you sick."

"You was bein' such a spaz," Ellis said, grinning. "Jerkin' all over the goddamn place. You must of been havin' some awful dreams."

"Man, I don't have nightmares. I'm not 12." Nick squirmed to sit up, and finally Ellis let him.

"I still have nightmares, sometimes," Ellis murmured, not quite looking at him.

They sat there in silence for several minutes. Ellis rubbed at his eyes, as if to brush away tears, but he couldn't be crying – he was probably tired. He'd been running around all day, doing work on the jeeps and running errands to make people happy, and looking after Nick.

"You have to look after yourself every once and a while," Nick told him presently, and Ellis gave him an astonished look before he laughed.

"Me? Naw, I'm fine. I'm fine."

"No, you ain't. Don't lie to me."

"Takes a lot more'n this shit to knock me down. You know that. You _know_ that."

Ellis liked to believe he was invincible, and that it was his job to look after everyone else. He would probably die apologizing. Right now, he looked about ready to break – because he wasn't invincible. He wasn't the strongest.

"Come here," Nick said resignedly, holding out his arms, and Ellis fell gracelessly into them, knocking the wind out of Nick. "God, you big baby."

Ellis didn't respond. He held on tight, hooking his legs around Nick, and somehow they both fit on that pathetic cot, sandwiched together. Ellis was cold from walking around outside, and Nick was hot from fever, and then they touched they both laughed in surprise.

They tried to sleep that way, but Ellis kept falling off of the cot, and in the end they slept separate again.

* * *

Ellis was Southern.

This seems like a minor detail at first glance – but being Southern is more than just a reference to the geological location in which a person grows up. Being Southern is an attitude, it's a lifestyle, it's a culture and a religion. And Ellis had been raised of the thick of it, and spoke passionately with it. He was Southern.

It was difficult to sum up entirely what this meant, other than that, sometimes when they fought, Nick suddenly became The North and Ellis suddenly became The South, and that was the entirety of their personalities. Nick couldn't stand Ellis's sweetness sometimes, or his stubbornness.

In the morning, Nick was feeling much better. He hauled himself out of bed, Ellis hovering all the while. He tried to pretend like he wasn't hovering – but he was clearly hovering, especially when he tossed in all sorts of helpful questions like, "Ain't your feet cold?" or "Do you need help gettin' your button on?"

"Don't you have someone else to bother?" Nick snapped, and to his surprise, this made Ellis smile. His insults and barbed comments were becoming less of a deterrent now and more of a joke to Ellis, probably because he realized that Nick didn't actually mean them.

"You know what I hate? I hate how cold it is," Ellis said without missing a beat. "I ain't never seen this much snow in my life. It was fun at first, but now it's just a pain."

"Cold, are you?" Nick asked with a wry grin, and Ellis caught the flirting, and frowned at him.

"I ain't givin' you _jack shit_ until you're better. You hear?"

"All I asked was if you were cold, not if you wanted to go for three rounds of ass-hockey. Christ." But secretly, Nick was a little bit wounded.

"Ass-hockey," Ellis echoed, laughing even as a blush ran up the back of his neck. They hadn't actually done anything of that sort, not yet – though for what reason, Nick couldn't say. Somehow, neither of them felt quite ready for that sort of confirmation. Ellis cleared up the awkwardness by changing the subject, though, for which Nick was grateful. "Come along, before breakfast gets over with."

Muttering something about rednecks, Nick tugged on his boots.

* * *

On the way back from breakfast, Nick caught Ellis by the back of his T-shirt and spun him around, pinning him up against a stationary light pole and kissing him hard.

Ellis freaked, but it took a minute for him to get there, because for one sweet, brilliant moment in time, he forgot where he was, he forgot about his past, forgot about everything. And when Nick kissed him, he kissed back, sucking the air from him, tasting like orange juice and stale eggs. His mouth was cold from the winter, but his tongue was burning hot.

They kissed there in the open, for everyone to see – and a few people _did_ see. Saw Ellis melting and submitting to Nick as he always did, heard Nick chuckling and Ellis whimpering, because he was a warm-blooded 23-year-old man who hadn't seen action since God knows when. Every single muscle in him was taut like a string on a bow.

They kissed with a fury and accuracy that sprung from familiarity and something running deeper and even sweeter, as if they had known each other a long time. Ellis smiled into the kiss; he almost never stopped smiling.

And then he remembered, he remembered where they were; and he yanked back with a shout, and slugged Nick across the face.

"The fuck, man!" he screamed, and Nick laughed, even though his nose smarted and was probably bleeding. Ellis had a mean right cross.

"Surprise," Nick muttered, wiping the blood away. Some part of him felt elated and the other felt wounded down in the pit of his stomach. He had known it would happen like that – he wasn't entirely sure what had come over him. Some part of him felt that if he didn't do it, he would regret it in the end.

"You can't just go around doin' that sort of shit in public! Christ!" Ellis's eyes were huge and panicked, but he put his fists down when Nick was an acceptable distance away.

All of Nick's blood was swooping through his veins, hot and slick like oil. He hadn't felt this tangled up in a long time, this angry, this full of love – not since Cookie admitted to killing the baby without asking, with _his_ money, just a hip skip and a jump to the abortion clinic. And he had been so full of hate, and then she had begun to cry, and he had loved her, too.

"Nick," Ellis croaked, but he didn't look outwardly week at all. His voice screamed in volumes.

A beat was tapping itself out behind Nick's right eyeball. "What? _What, _Ellis, what?"

"It ain't proper," Ellis said, quiet, so quiet. "It ain't proper in the eyes of God or nobody."

"Nothing's proper with you, goddammit. Is it? What else do you want from me?"

"Why you gotta be this way all of the time? Quit yellin' at me! You're just too yellow to come out and say what you really wanna say and you take it out on me."

"You don't know _shit_ about me."

"Naw. I guess I don't." Ellis sniffled huge and long and wiped his nose with the back of his arm. His eyes were made of steel, out of ice, out of glass.

Nick watched him walk away, and he felt cold inside, and sick.

* * *

"He hit me."

Rochelle cocked an eyebrow. "Sounds to me like you damn well deserved it."

"You don't have to deal with him on a daily basis," Nick muttered as he pinched his nose and stared at the ceiling. Ellis had bloodied his nose pretty good.

"You don't go around molesting your boyfriends in public, especially not Southern boyfriends. They don't like it."

Nick smirked. "And you know about this from personal experience?"

"Don't get smarmy with me, sweetheart." She made an irritated sucking noise with her mouth. "How's your nose coming?"

"Hurts like a motherfuck."

"Well, he didn't break it. I guess that's one good thing." She passed him some Advil and he downed it with a strangled curse.

"I just don't get it."

"Nick… he's a kid. You've got to be gentler with him. You're so stubborn and forward and it hurts him."

"Says the woman who forced us together in the first place."

"You're good for each other," she said without doubt, clearly not in the mood to hassle with him. Rochelle had a way of always being right, even when she was wrong. "But you've got to remember that this is a good strong Christian boy you're talkin' about. From _Georgia_."

"He doesn't seem to have a problem jabbering on and on about that Keith asshole."

"That's different." Her eyes were big and soft.

"I don't see how."

"That's your problem, right there. This is why you're fighting."

"Because that totally helps me out. I _get_ it now."

"Sarcasm won't you get anywhere." She sighed, rubbing her temple as if Nick's stupidity was giving her a headache. "Listen, Nick, honey… Just be gentle with him. Or I'll come after you with a pair of frying pan, and you _know_ what I can do with those."

He did, and appropriately shut his mouth.

* * *

When Nick returned back to their tent, he found Ellis sitting on his – Nick's – cot, flipping through the crumpled wallet Ellis had managed to keep through the security cleaning. For some reason, he had been weirdly attached to the thing, and he had let loose quite a few swear words before the agent finally just let him have it.

"Hey, Overalls," Nick said softly, and wasn't surprised when Ellis glanced up at him with a brilliant grin.

"Hi, Nick."

"What are you doing?"

Ellis snapped the wallet shut and stuffed it in his back pocket. "Nothin'," he said, which was probably a lie. He was smiling an easy kind of smile, but he was probably still mad. It was like Ellis to stay cheery through the last bitter moment.

Sighing, because this was his least favorite part of any relationship, Nick sat beside Ellis. "I'm sorry, Overalls."

"Quit callin' me that, just to get on my good side," Ellis scolded, but the purring undertone to his voice suggested that this was enough to pacify him. "My Mama always said an apology ain't an apology unless you say what all you're apologizin' for."

Might as well go for broke.

"I'm sorry for dry-humping you against a pole in front of everyone," Nick answered, and this made Ellis laugh until there were tears in his eyes. It was good that way, better.

"Don't think nothin' of it," Ellis said at last, his voice raw from laughing. "Christ. I damn near jumped out of my skin."

"Did you?" Nick found himself surprisingly close to laughter.

"Yeah! _Shit_. Men don't go 'round doin' that, where I come from. Except for Keith once, and that was on a dare, and anyway he was already wearin' fairy wings and a skirt so he figured why not…"

"Ellis."

Ellis looked at him and got a bashful kind of grin on his face, because he realized what he was doing wrong. It was that sweet sort of smile that made Nick's gut twist – not that he would ever admit it, something so sappy as that. Ellis pushed a hand through his own messy, non-descript hair, which was growing longer by the day. "Sorry. I don't mean nothin' by it. You know that, right?" A pause; the smile got sneakier. "It's just that Keith was just a bit more interestin' than you."

"Shut up." Nick thumped him upside the head. Ellis guffawed and shoved him back, and then chased him down and pinned his head under his armpit and mussed his hair so thoroughly it would take hours to get back in order, and Nick _hated_ it when his hair was messed up. Their cackling bothered the neighbors, probably, but neither of them could find the effort to care.

"Little weasel! God _dammit_!"

"Squirt a few, old man. Come on. Lemme see some crocodile tears."

"I'm going to whoop your ass, man."

"You think I can't wrastle you? I bet I can make you cry for your Momma."

Ellis had a tiny golden crucifix necklace that had been given to him by an old woman four tents over who had taken kindly to him. It caught and glittered in the light. His mouth smiled and smiled. Every inch of him, every scar, was full of beauty.

For the first time, Nick took him and laid him down and thoroughly made love to him.

The next day, the radios were out. Not a single station was running – only static, from every corner of the globe. People stepped out of their tents and stared dumbly at the sky, as if it would provide them answers. Side by side, curled in each other, Nick and Ellis slept through the morning.

* * *

That day, that cold, stagnant day, Nick's fever was gone. His head cleared and he felt much better. He made some wisecracks about how Ellis could heal the sick through touch, but Ellis didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes. Whenever Nick got sarcastic, Ellis would just stop him and look in his face and kiss him.

"Stop that," Nick grumbled for the umpteenth time. "You're such a girl. Would have kept it in my pants if I knew it was going to turn you into a sap."

"Jesus don't approve," Ellis would say between his warm, suckling kisses. "But I figure we're all goin' to hell, anyway."

"I know I always was," Nick sighed. "Now get off of me."

Whenever they stepped out of their tent, Ellis didn't touch him. Nick was used to this and didn't complain.

**- the end **OR continue on to the "real" ending...


	2. THE ENDING to be read with previous

Here's the intended ending to this fic.

**Epiphany - CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS PAGE  
**

"The radio's out," Rochelle mentioned as they stood around in the rec hall, watching some teenagers play basketball. The vast majority of survivors were people under the age of 40 and over the age of 15 – probably because they were healthy enough, and sharp enough, to wade through the hazards of the infection to make it alive. Kids tended to freeze up and panic, especially when left to their own devices, Nick knew, and it filled him with cold sadness when he saw a kid wandering around through camp with those long scars down his face – Hunters, mostly, especially if they were from the North.

It had been three months since they had first arrived here. It felt like so much longer.

"Do you listen to the radio?" Nick asked, running his fingers absent-mindedly through the hair of a napping Ellis. Ellis probably would have been horrified to realize he had fallen asleep in Nick's lap, but for now, Nick was content to take advantage of the situation.

"Coach does, don't you, Coach?"

"Sure do."

Rochelle looked at Nick and bit her lip. "I just don't like it. Even the military station cut out."

"What's the last you heard?" Nick asked, trying to sound casual. A boy out on the court was caught traveling with the ball and his friends hollered at him loudly.

"Texas," Rochelle whispered. "All of the South and the East. Isolated cases in Canada and the West coast, moving inland. But… But Texas. Texas."

They were all quiet then. A helicopter roared from overhead. They had been coming less and less. Nick noticed it, in the morning – how still and silent the air had been, as if the earth had been holding its breath and awaiting a painful blow.

How many people sick now? A million? A hundred million?

"I guess we know, then," Nick said in a quiet voice. "Don't we? I guess we know."

"Don't talk like that, Nick, please," Rochelle said, her voice choked. Her eyes started to shine and Coach put an arm around her.

"There there, girl," he murmured, and she began to cry outright.

Nick looked down at Ellis's sleeping face and smiled a tired smile. They had fought long and hard.

* * *

Nobody mentioned the radio to Ellis. It was the last thing he needed.

Nick came back from the latrine after lunch to find Ellis once more flipping through his wallet. The leather was rubbed to a pale scraggliness in the corners. He'd probably had it a long time, and it had probably seen a lot. Parts of it were bloodstained, and the whole thing was damaged by water. If there was any money in it, it was probably only change – if that. Metal coins were dangerous to people when they started to go mad.

"Overalls."

"Hi, Nick." Ellis went to put away the wallet, but Nick caught his hand gently.

"What are you always looking at?"

"My wallet."

Nick laughed. "I never would have guessed, you fucking hick. Let me see it."

"Maybe not this time, Nick," Ellis said softly. He looked up at Nick with that skittish kind of look he got when he was upset. His fingers ran over the leather of his wallet and he kept it close to the center of his body like a child holds a stuffed animal to their chest in the dark. "Okay?"

"Is it Keith?"

Ellis's silence was his answer.

"That's okay," Nick said easily enough, sitting beside him. "I was just wondering. That's all. Just wondering."

"Sorry," Ellis whispered over and over. "Sorry, sorry."

"Ellis…"

"Huh?"

The words screamed from the depth of Nick. The radio was silent. The sky was silent. He opened his mouth and no sound came.

"Never mind," he whispered at last.

"Okay." Ellis put away his wallet.

* * *

The first barrage of bombs missed the camp by several miles because of the wind, and it launched a panic. Everyone heard the explosion, but didn't feel the concussion for a moment before it came in a huge wave and knocked them all flat. Snow and dirt and debris whipped up everywhere in an enormous whirlwind, and all around them people were screaming, running – as if they had a place to run to. They were holed up in these cement walls like rats in traps.

Something in the air seemed thin and sharp, filled with static. Nick struggled to breathe in the freezing, turbulent air. He found Rochelle in the distance, and called to her, but then she was gone, caught up in a rolling tent. She would be fine, until the next rainfall of metal.

Nick screamed into the flurry of muted sound. "Ellis! Ellis, where the fuck are you?"

There he was, stumbling through the thick haze of swirling debris. He tried to cover his eyes but it didn't help. Something had cut him clean across his cheek and he was bleeding. They would have to fix him up later, Nick thought dumbly, distantly – a disconnected, pointless thought. It was strange, the way the brain worked.

A light pole fell between them, and Ellis shouted in surprise and alarm, jumping back. Live wires danced and snapped and hissed between them, and after a moment Ellis started to move forward again, skirting them with an almost practiced efficiency. The electricity didn't matter as it jolted the ground as if to revive the earth itself.

"What in the hell was that?" Ellis asked, shouting over the shriek of the siren starting up now all around them. The jets roared overhead, louder and louder as they descended. They reminded Nick of roaring lions, or dragons, leaping from a tree or from the sky for the kill. There had been no warning, none at all.

"Ellis," Nick was saying, but Ellis was distracted by all of the motion around them.

"Good God, did you feel that? It was like a fuckin' earthquake, man, it was…"

"Ellis!"

"What, man?"

The snow whipped their skin. It was cold and sharp and bitter. Something exploded in the distance, and fire chased up the length of the fence. Nick tasted smoke and precious seconds. He was drowning here, in this freezing lake of fire. And suddenly it was clear and real, and he knew, with a powerful inspiration, what he needed to say. His eyes stung with tears, and Ellis, seeing them, gaped.

"Shit, man! You're cryin'! Ain't never seen…"

"Listen to me!"

The air around them began to tighten, to hum with the energy of the final conscious seconds of life. Nick heard something, high and sweet, a ringing between his ears as the bombs began to fall again with a cartoonish slowness above them.

Little bombs for the people, big bombs for the world.

Ellis sensed it, gripped Nick's sleeve and turned his eyes skyward once, and only once. When he looked at Nick, he heard the words, saw them echoed in his eyes. Over that final great roar, Nick shouted out, screamed out that he loved him.

And then the wind took away Ellis's breath, took away Ellis's skin and bones. Every last piece of him snapped into molecules and molecules and then even those were torn asunder, until there was nothing left but zipping, screaming electrons bouncing through space and infinity. His answer rode on the concussion, out and out and out into the atmosphere, into space itself, a message carrying beyond the words, independent and pregnant with a necessary, vital truth.

And there it drifted, his meaning and his final answer, until the silence crept up upon it and swallowed that, too.

And there was nothing but silence after that.

- **the end**


End file.
